Brave Old Salt Part 42

"Thank G.o.d! I hope so," exclaimed the boatswain, encouraged by these cheerful words.

"Tom, I owe my life to you."

"O, never mind that, my darling! What would I have done if you had slipped your wind?"

"You would have done your duty, as you always do, my good fellow."

"I dare say I should, Mr. Somers, but I can only thank G.o.d that you are alive now," replied the boatswain, as the tears flowed down his bronzed cheek, and he turned to leave the room.

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE HOSPITAL.

Under the arrangement made by Admiral Farragut with the commander of Fort Morgan, the wounded of both sides were sent in the Metacomet to Pensacola. Somers was of the number, and he was borne from his berth in the Chatauqua to the steamer, though the removal caused him great pain.

The numbness of his side was beginning to pa.s.s away, and the parts to become very sensitive.

"Mr. Somers, I am sorry to see you in this condition," said "Brave Old Salt," who was present with a kind word for the suffering heroes of the battle. "You behaved n.o.bly during the fight, as I am told you always do."

"Thank you, sir. You are very kind," moaned Somers, in his pain and weakness.

"I have not forgotten you, my brave fellow," continued the admiral. "The capture of the Ben Lomond was a matter of more consequence than you can appreciate, perhaps; and your faith and skill in doing this work ent.i.tle you to the grat.i.tude of your country."

"I am happy in having merited your approbation."

"You have behaved gallantly in the action; and, I repeat, you shall be remembered. What can I do for you, Mr. Somers?"

"Nothing more for me, admiral. You have done more for me now than I deserve. Mr. Longstone, the boatswain of the Chatauqua, who saved my life--"

"I know all about him, Mr. Somers. He was your right-hand man in the capture of the Ben Lomond."

"He was, sir."

"He shall not be forgotten."

"I have already been rewarded more than I deserve--"

"No, you haven't. Mr. Pillgrim promised you a lieutenant's commission, if you brought out his steamer. I ratify that promise. As to the boatswain, it is a pity he is not an educated man; but he shall be cared for."

"Thank you, sir."

But Somers was too faint to talk any longer, and the admiral pa.s.sed to other of the n.o.ble fellows who had been wounded on that eventful day.

The sufferer's cot was placed on the ward-room floor, for the state-rooms and berths were already full. In one of them lay Admiral Buchanan, who had commanded the rebel fleet. He had been wounded in the leg in the battle, and he had lost the battle itself, which, to a proud, brave spirit, was worse than losing a leg.

Somers was now suffering the most intense pain, which he bore like a hero. Tom Longstone bent tenderly over him, his eyes filled with tears, and uttered his adieus. With a hand as gentle as a woman's, he pillowed his head on the couch, and smoothed back his hair from his eyes. He would gladly have gone with his wounded friend, to lave his fevered brow and speak words of comfort and encouragement to him; but neither of them thought of such a thing, for the admiral's fleet was in the enemy's waters, and every man was needed at his post.

The Metacomet, having received her precious freight of mangled heroes, cast off her moorings, and, pa.s.sing the fort, turned her prow to the eastward. On her arrival at Pensacola, the sufferers were transferred to the hospital, where they received every attention which willing hands and generous hearts could bestow.

Fort Morgan surrendered to the combined forces of the army and navy before the end of the month, and Mobile Bay was in undisputed possession of the government. The work undertaken by the brave admiral had been fully completed. Mobile was now a cipher, so far as the Confederacy was concerned, though a great bl.u.s.ter was made of defending it to the last.

Somers had been three weeks in the hospital, and doubtless owed his life to the skill of the surgeon and the attentions of the nurses. He had been injured internally, as Dr. De Plesion feared; but he had begun to improve, though he was still unable to sit up. He had endured the severest pain, and the doctor had not concealed from him his fears of a fatal result, because the patience and firmness, but especially the religious faith, of the sufferer warranted him in doing so.

Day after day and night after night Somers struggled with his condition, in faith, patience, and resignation. He felt that he was ready to leave the world, full of joys and hopes as it was, for the purer hopes and brighter joys of the eternal world beyond the grave. He thought of his mother, and wished that she might be with him to smooth his dying pillow, if he must die; but it was not the will of G.o.d, and he did not murmur. He thought of Kate Portington. He would like to see her once more before he pa.s.sed away, but this was a vain wish; and from her and the loved ones at home he turned to the glorious realities of the immortal life--fitting theme for one who was trembling between life and death.

In the midst of his pain and earthly loneliness he was happy. He could not but recall the scene of Phil Kennedy's death-bed; of the agony of remorse which shook him, as he looked back upon his past life; of the terrors with which his stricken conscience invested the grave. Then the sufferer, in the deepest depths of his heart, thanked G.o.d that he had been enabled to be true to himself and to duty. He was happy in the past, happy in the hope of the future. There was much to regret and to repent of; but as he did regret and repent, he felt that he was forgiven.

He was happy; and the joy of that hour, when an approving conscience triumphs over bodily pain, and decks the waiting tomb with flowers, was worth the struggle with the legions of temptations which all must encounter.

We are best fitted to live when best prepared to die. Somers waited with hope and resignation for the angel of death, but he came not. The very calmness with which he regarded the open tomb, a.s.sisted in closing its portals to him. At the end of two weeks the doctor spoke more of life than of death; at the end of three he spoke not at all of the grim messenger--grim he was, even when he wore the chaplet of flowers with which Faith and Hope ever crown him.

Somers was out of danger. The internal inflammation pa.s.sed away, and the patient began to mend. He thought of life now, of meeting the loved ones who, afar off, had sadly spoken farewells to him when he departed from their presence, with all the fearful perils of storm and battle hanging over him.

On the day after the news of the surrender of Fort Morgan arrived, the Chatauqua dropped her anchor off Pensacola. A boat immediately put off from her, containing Boatswain Longstone, who landed, and hastened to the hospital with all possible speed. Probably there had hardly been an hour since the Metacomet left Mobile Bay with the wounded, in which Tom had not thought of Somers. The old man was as eager and impatient as a child, and could hardly submit to the formalities necessary to procure admission to the hospital.

"My darling!" exclaimed the veteran, as he crept up to the bed of his young friend.

He walked lightly, and spoke softly and tenderly, for he knew how sick Somers had been.

"Ah, Tom, I am glad to see you," replied the patient, as he extended his thin hand, which the boatswain eagerly seized, though he handled it as tenderly as a bashful youth does the hand of the maiden he loves. "It does my eyes good to look upon you, Tom."

"Jack, I've been dying to see you. They told me you were in a bad way, and might slip your cable any moment."

"I have not expected to live, until a week ago."

"G.o.d bless you, Jack! I was never so happy in my life;" and the boatswain actually wept,--great, strong, weather-stained veteran as he was, who had breasted the storms of four and thirty years on the ocean.

"I know how you feel, Tom."

"So you may, Jack,--I beg pardon, Mr.--"

"Call me Jack, now," interposed Somers, with a faint smile; "it sounds like old times. You have been the making of me, Tom, and we won't stand on ceremony, as long as we are not on board the s.h.i.+p."

The boatswain still held the attenuated hand of his sick friend, and they talked of the past and of the present; of the battle, and of the subsequent events in the bay. But Tom Longstone seemed to be thinking all the time of something else.

"What have you got on, Tom?" asked Somers, as he noticed a "foul anchor"

on his shoulder, and a band of gold lace on his sleeve.

"What have I got on? Why, I always wear my colors, of course," replied Tom, with a smile of the deepest satisfaction.

"But those are not the colors of a boatswain in the United States Navy."

"That's a fact, Jack. I'm not a boatswain, just now."

"Indeed!"